


Tomorrow's Key

by lorry



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 04:42:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorry/pseuds/lorry
Summary: What’s the use of a pawn if it’s never put into play? Regina employs one of her most useful pieces; one she owns body, heart and mind.





	1. Chapter 1

  

  _ **Prologue**_

 

 

_She could feel it now, the dark miasma pervading the Queen’s castle, soon to stretch its malevolent tentacles over all the kingdoms._

_She gave a brief thought to her father in the Marchlands, but it was a mere flicker with no true curiosity behind it. More occupied was she with the thought of the Queen’s whereabouts; was she at the castle of her stepdaughter, gloating at the ruination she has wrought?_

_No matter. She was told to wait here, and she hadn’t the will to defy Her orders even if she had somewhere else to go. Absently holding a hand to her empty breast, she watched the purplish gray clouds roll over the castle and swallow them whole._

_Her last thought before oblivion was to idly muse how someone like Rumpelstiltskin would fare in a land without magic._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 “Did you go over the contract yet?” Regina asked her briskly, tapping a pointed shoe.

From the stack of ordered chaos on her desk, she slid the right document out and onto her employer’s waiting hand. “Proofread and polished. And Dr. Hopper just called for the third time. I think you should take it, he sounds really upset.”

Not bothering to peruse it, the mayor ignored the word of warning, sailing back to her black and white sanctum, but not before reiterating her order to “screen all non-official business calls,” the door clicking sharply behind her.

A beat later the phone began to ring, and as soon as she picked it up, she had a premonition of trouble.

“Lo, Izzy? I need to talk to Regina.”

“What’s wrong, Graham?” she said immediately, that premonition growing ever stronger.

He heaved a sigh, seemingly bone-weary. “Henry’s run away again.”

 

* * *

 

“ _He left town?_ HOW THE HELL COULD HE LEAVE TOWN?! He’s ten years old! That stupid woman! I know it’s her fault somehow, that incompetent teacher!” Regina was raging, hands clenching and unclenching as if she wanted to strangle someone.

Izzy narrowed her eyes in thought. “Are you sure he’s not here somewhere? Maybe he’s in some out of the way part of Storybrooke.”

Graham shook his head, raking back his hair in frustration. “He managed to hitch a ride from the diner to the edge of town, don’t ask me how. From there he walked until he reached the bus stop.”

“Why would he go this far?” Izzy murmured in dismay. “He _knows_ better.”

He’s too smart to think he can cope with living by himself. His previous attempts at running away were more in the nature of a tantrum, or his way of getting away from his mother for a while.

“He can’t get far. I already made some calls to the bus companies and gave them a description. I’m going to head out myself, see if I can catch him at some of the stops,” the man tried to appease as Regina looked at him blankly.

“What? No, no,” she took a breath and held it, before letting it and her tension go. “He’s long gone by now, you’d never be able to find him anymore. We should wait. For them to call. The police can bring him back from wherever he is.”

She surveyed the paperwork cluttering her desk and her two subordinates with distaste. “I’m not going to get anything done anymore. We might as well call it a day. Graham, come with me. He might have left some clues on where he was going in his room.”

“I’ll finish here and hold the fort at the sheriff’s office,” Izzy offered as she started tidying up.

Without bothering to say anything else, Regina stalked out in tight-lipped fury, Graham on her heels.

Izzy decided to take some of her work with her to the sheriff’s. She might as well do something productive while waiting. Hopefully a lone young boy like Henry would stick to people’s minds and a call would come soon.

 

* * *

 

“Happy birthday by the way,” Henry caroled, looking hopefully at his biological mother underneath his dark fringe of hair.

“...Thanks,” Emma said distrustfully, sparing him a narrowed glance before concentrating back on the road.

Henry waited a moment before putting forward with, “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-eight.”

He was silent again for a minute as he grasped that. Then with his face scrunched up in thought, he asked, “So you were eighteen when you had me?”

“Yeah,” she said, not elaborating. What was there to say? She had been eighteen, yes, an adult in the eyes of the law--but she hadn’t felt equipped to take care of a baby and do it well. A large part of what motivated her to put this boy up for adoption was because she wanted to give him his best chance, the way she never had. But a small part of her, she was ashamed to admit, just chickened out.

She fixed her eyes harder on the road, unable to look him in the face again. She just wanted to get this interminable drive over with it, deposit the kid safely home and get back to her uncomplicated devil-may-care bounty-hunting way of life.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, putting his chin on his hands and his hands on his knees.

“What for?” she frowned.

“That that happened to you. That you had to make a choice like that. It must have been hard. I just want you to know, it was the right thing to do. You had to give me away so I could come to Storybrooke. So that I could bring you back with me.”

“Kid--”

“ _Henry_ \--”

“-- _Henry_ , I’m not staying. It would be kind of awkward for me to do so, what with your _real_ mom being there, and me apparently being a bad influence on you...”

“But you _have_ to stay. At least a _week_. I went to all this trouble just to see you, and I’m not afraid to do it again if I have to.” He looked fierce and mulish, hugging that weighty tome to himself like an anchor.

“ _Kid,_ ” she groaned.

“ _Henry_!” he insisted, sensing weakness.

“Look, don’t you think you’ve worried your mom enough? She’s probably frantic right about now, don’t be like this.”

He held onto his book of fairytales grimly, not a line of his face changing, old eyes staring through the glass.

“If she had her way, I’d never ever be able to leave Storybrooke.”

 

* * *

 

The rain stopped as they entered the town proper—a gentle drizzle that turned the night air sweetly cool, wispy rain clouds scattering in the ensuing breeze.

Slowing to a stop by the clock tower, Emma stepped out of the beetle with a curse, utterly fed up not just with the boy’s pigheadedness, but with the whole day in general. Birthdays should be outlawed, she’d swear. They’re hazardous to one’s mental health.

Henry filled her ear with chatter concerning his theories about fairytales and curses and her Big Role in it as the Savior, but remained obstinately mute regarding his mom and the exact whereabouts of his house. She was considering cruising around until they found the sheriff’s office or, heck, maybe the lost and found, when she felt Henry twitch beside her and give an audible gulp.

He backed to her side, and she instinctively put a reassuring arm around him as she looked around, trying to find what had him spooked.

All she saw was a lone figure slowly making his way in their direction. The figure paused, betraying his momentary surprise at seeing them, before he proceeded over to them, nodding to Henry as he came close.

“Hello Henry. Isn’t it a little late for you to be out?”

“Uh...”

Seeing Henry seeming lost for words for the first time since they met, Emma cut in despite feeling inexplicably wary of the stranger. “My point exactly, yeah. Henry involved me in this project he’s doing, and we got sort of--sidetracked. His mom must be worried I know, but we’re sort of, lost. Can you tell us where we can find Henry’s house Mr...?”

“Gold,” Henry finally found his tongue, “this is Mr. Gold. He owns the pawnshop here. Mr. Gold, this is my real mom, Emma Swan.”

Mr. Gold tactfully looked down to contemplate the ivory handle of his cane while Emma made strangled cat noises at the kid’s gall--she really should have seen that coming, considering everything.

“It’s, um, nice to meet you, Mr. Gold,” she finally said, lamely.

“Likewise, _Em_ ma,” he enunciated carefully, giving her the creepiest feeling that he was weighing her name and finding its owner wanting. “It’s nice to finally meet Henry’s birth mother.”

“Yeah, let’s never mind that.” She made an abortive attempt to extend a hand, before thinking better of it. This man didn’t seem the shaking hands type.  “So, can you can help us?”

“Certainly. The mayor’s house is the largest one on Mifflin Street. Just keep going straight then take a left at the intersection.”

“ _...Aha_. Well, we’d better not keep _the mayor_ waiting now don’t we?” She gave a sulking Henry’s neck a slightly threatening squeeze, before ushering him back into her yellow bug. So much for his sob story. Poor rich little kid indeed.

“I’ll be seeing you around then, Miss Swan?”

“Uh, no, I’m afraid not. This is just a one-time thing.”

“That’s too bad, dearie. Well, if you change your mind, there’s an inn here you can rent a room in that you can find behind that diner over there. You’d be doing them a favor if you do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again for showing us the way.”

“Likewise, Miss Swan.” He seemed content to stay there until they vanished around the corner.

 

* * *

 

Lights glared down at them from multiple windows of the imposing house. A shadow flickered and disappeared by an upper window, before the front door burst open bare seconds later dislodging a distraught woman as two other people hovered by the foyer.

“Henry!” the woman cried, grabbing him by his arms in a desperate grip, her eyes fixed wholly on her son in an agony of relief.

Emma stood by, tense and nervy, feeling very much like the third wheel in this scenario. After a few more charged moments, Henry awkwardly squirmed away to clutch at Emma’s sleeve, drawing her forward to face the woman who had willingly raised her cuckoo child.

For a few seconds the woman looked politely bewildered, before her poised, well-mannered façade dissolved into alarm and the faint beginnings of dread. “Who is this?”

“I’m Emma Swan,” she smiled wanly at the woman slowly rising to her feet. “I’m the one who signed the adoption papers, hi.”

There was a sudden intake of breath by the doorway but Henry’s mom herself was unnervingly still.

“Izzy,” she suddenly said. “Can you keep Henry company in his room for a while, make sure he’s okay? Ms. Swan,” here she flashed Emma a blinding smile, smoothly gracious and assured once more, “please do come in, I’m sure you’ve much to tell me, and I’ve got a nice cold pitcher of apple cider waiting.”

 

* * *

 

“You okay, kid?” Graham gave him a cursory look from top to toe, keen eyes taking in the bedraggled appearance and exhaustion barely kept in check as the boy dragged his feet up the stairs. Other than that though, he seemed fine, considering the round trip he took from Maine to Boston and back again, half of which he managed by himself. You had to admire the kid’s guts, even though he brought back trouble with a capital T in person. He knew the type. Oh well, from the looks of things, Miss Trouble isn’t staying too long if Regina had her way, and Regina Mills _always_ had her way. “You look like you need a good night’s sleep.”

“Mharg,” Henry mumbled, grumbling. Slumping on a newel post, he backslid into Izzy’s arms, who propped him up, urging him forward the half a dozen steps into his room.

“Here we go,” Izzy cajoled good-humoredly, shepherding him until she managed to deposit him into bed, whereupon he lay down and promptly turned on his side, an irrepressible smile on his lips as he appeared to drop straight off to dreamland.

Graham hovered by the door, catching Izzy’s eye and jerking his head below. Her brows knit in puzzlement, before her eyes widened as she finally recalled the little drama from earlier. Nodding urgently to let him know he can go and check up on their employer and her surprise guest and make sure to minimize the...well, whatever it was that was happening downstairs, a third party can only be helpful. “Don’t let me keep you.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, a soft voice piped up from the bed. “Do you think Mom and Emma are fighting?”

Startled, she looked down to see a pair of wide open eyes watching her keenly. The prone youngster beside her worried his lip as he waited for her reply.

 _No, of course not_ she wanted to say, but they both knew Regina far too well for that. For all her extraordinary leadership qualities, she can also be a bit obsessive and controlling when it came to two things: Henry and the town.

And Emma Swan looked like the sort of individual born to push such a person’s trigger buttons.

“Probably,” she sighed. “You know your mother doesn’t take surprises very well.”

He cocked his head, and settled more comfortably on the pillow. “Emma is the most surprising person I’ve met,” he declared positively.

“Well now we know where you got it from,” she muttered under her breath as he looked at her tellingly, not knowing what he’s trying to convey, or why he did all these in the first place.

“I think she’ll surprise herself even,” he said musingly, staring up at the ceiling. “She says she’ll leave here as soon as she has a word with Mom, but I have a feeling Mom will convince her to stay. In fact, I think she’ll do a better job than I ever did.”

“Henry...”

“I know. I’m in a lot of trouble tomorrow. I don’t care, it was worth it. ”

“Henry, Regina is _not_ the enemy. _No one_ is the enemy. It isn’t fair to her or to...Emma, to bring Emma here, just to make them fight.”

“She _is_ the enemy. I love her, but she _is_ the enemy. You don’t know what she’s done--”

“Not the ‘curse’ aga--”

“— _to you._ To everyone. But especially to you and Graham.”

“What, I thought we were _evil_ _minions_ in this scenario,” she smiled lopsidedly. “The Magic Mirror and the Woodcutter maybe? Though I thought the Evil Queen worked alone.”

“Huntsman, not woodcutter, that’s Red Riding Hood. And you’re not evil _or_ her minions, she stole you away, and took your hearts so you wouldn’t be able to free yourselves.”

“So we’re cursed people in a cursed world. Double whammy. Is there any hope for us?”

He gave her that unnerving gaze again. “Trust Emma,” he said soberly. “She’ll save everyone. But we need to give her a little help first.”

 

* * *

 

Jogging hurriedly to reach his house as fast as he could while retaining some dignity, he found the slight, _intimidating,_ figure of Storybrooke’s pawnbroker and chief landlord waiting impatiently by his doorstep.

“Good evening Mr. Gold,” the florist tugged his cap at him, panting lightly.

Mr. Gold eyed him icily. “I don’t like to be kept waiting Mr. French.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I was just at my daughter's--didn't know it was so late. Here we are,” he held out this month’s rent, nearly wincing when a black-gloved hand snatched it brusquely from his own without bothering to count it out.

He didn’t need to. Woe betide any who would short-change the iron-fisted landlord. Being evicted would be the least of their worries.

“Your daughter,” repeated Mr. Gold. “Isabelle right? Works for the mayor? Another of my tenants.”

“Yes, she lives on 23rd, leases one of your apartments. Always pays right on time she does.”

The pawnbroker waved that away indifferently. “You might as well tell her I’ll be raising the rent next month. Same with yours.”

“ _What?_ But Mr. Gold! You just raised it a couple of months ago!”

“It’s called a _recession_ Mr. French, perhaps you’ve heard of it. I believe it’s happening nationwide. If you’re uncertain if you can make subsequent payments, you’re free to make arrangements to move elsewhere if you wish?”

Fists tightening and jaw jutting out stubbornly, he quietly replied, “We’ll make do.”

“I’m sure you will, Mr. French.” His cane clacking on the pavement, Mr. Gold slowly sauntered away. “And you’re right. It is a _very_ good evening.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

The atmosphere around Storybrooke had always been heavy. It pressed upon the townspeople, weighing them down so that they went about their daily lives in a daze, performing the same routine ad infinitum without pausing to consider the _whys,_ _ifs_ or _buts._

No one was truly happy in their lot in life, although few are aware of this, and even fewer will admit this to anyone. Everyone, no matter how blessed or wretched their lives, felt something lacking in it that rendered the rest superfluous. But try as they might to find that missing vital ingredient, every attempt always results in failure; most don’t even bother, dissuaded by the pall cast by _something_ they cannot really define, although _hopelessness_ is a good word.

Mr. Gold, however, was different.

He was one of perhaps only two people who recognized the true nature of things--why people’s lots were cast as they were, and how to maneuver within the confines of the implicit rules laid down by the curse.

Foremost being: _True Love brings happiness._ _Those who seek happiness will fail._

Where everyone else was unhappy with no real idea why--he knew full well the extent of his loss, and was regularly _tormentingly_ reminded of it.

From his first moment of waking in this world, he knew that despite all his scheming, calculations, contingencies--he had made a very grievous mistake.

Skipping morning ablutions, he threw on strange familiar attire, and practically sprinted towards the municipal building despite the long-forgotten pain to his leg to see for himself, to make sure he wasn’t being tricked by his false memories.

And there she was, an hour before any other member of the mayoral staff--neat French braid, immaculate white blouse and tailored blue suit, stopping to nod at him politely before going inside--leaving him to stand wild-eyed and breathless on the steps of the town hall.

Oh gods.

_Belle._

It was the first and only rent-free day of Storybrooke’s history. He was incapable of doing much after that beyond pacing at the back room of his shop, cursing Regina and concocting truly inventive and myriad ways to make her pay _dearly._

But that wasn’t the end of nasty revelations. Oh no. He learned, much to his horror, how effective the curse he made was, in keeping even its maker from achieving his happily ever after.

For although Belle was alive and well, she was still one of the cursed, and she had no recognition for him except as landlord and his affiliation to her employer. She had her own life here, and ties and obligations that kept him effectively at a distance.

And thus, twenty-eight years passed--with only glimpses of Belle who treated him with unfailing if professional courtesy, an arm’s length away that managed to look like the breadth of an ocean--biding his time until the curse came to fruition.

Then Emma Swan came bull-crashing in, sending their artificial reality reeling like a spun top.

Like music in the air that galvanized people to pause and look up--the clock tower tolled, triumphantly proclaiming the death knells of the curse with the break of dawn.

He could _just_ sense it, spider web cracks and chinks in what was once impenetrable and invincible, the curse teetering just on the edge. All it would take is one good shove to shatter it.

It was finally time to put his plans into motion--concerning one Miss Emma Swan...and a Mrs. Isabelle French Humbert.

 

* * *

 

“Goodbye Miss B!” the last of her charges waved at her before skipping out the classroom, and she could finally let out a sigh of relief as she flopped down on her chair, enjoying the blissful silence.

It took her a moment to see the little boy hovering by the door, shouldering his ever-present backpack.

“Henry!” she gave him a big smile, glad to see him. She was afraid he’d choose to avoid her outside classes now. Henry reciprocated and went in to lean by her desk. “Hey Miss Blanchard.”

“So what’s up?”

His smile dimmed, gaze skittering away as he began fiddling with a pen on the tabletop. “Um, I wanted to say that--that I’m sorry I stole your credit card!” he burst out, then quickly added, “And I’m sorry I got you in trouble with the mayor; I should have thought of that--”

“Hey...”

“But I had to find my real mom, and I didn’t have enough money by myself. But I’ll pay you back! I promise! I’ve got a lot saved--”

“It’s okay, the mayor paid it back. I’m not upset.”

He scowled at the thought of his adopted mother being the one to reimburse her, and to distract him, she asked, “So you met your birth mom, what’s she like?”

He lit up like a Christmas tree at that. “She’s cool. I found out that her job is to find people and catch bad guys. And she can always detect when people are lying to her; it’s true, I tried, and she always knows. She’s perfect, everything I could ask for, a real-life--” here he took a quick look around and continued softly, “ _hero_.”

“You think she can break the curse,” she said just as softly.

He nodded solemnly. “What do _you_ think of her?”

She blinked at that. “Well, she seems very...independent. A lone wolf. Kinda like you.”

“So you like her?”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“How much?”

She raised her eyebrows at his persistence. “Well enough I suppose, but then I only met her twice. Why?”

He worried his bottom lip pensively, before shooting her a beseeching look. “She’s in jail again.”

“Oh.”

“She didn’t do anything, it’s just my mom _\--_ ” he rolled his eyes “--harassing her. I’d pay for her bail myself, but Graham probably wouldn’t let me. I need an adult.”

“ _Oh._ Um, wouldn’t it be better if Dr. Hopper helped you instead?”

He shook his head. “Dr. Hopper wouldn’t help me. He doesn’t want to antagonize my mom.”

“And I do?” Mary Margaret asked wryly.

“You can take her," he grinned, then insisted, “ _please_ , it has to be you. You want to help her too, don’t you?”

Strangely enough, she did. Maybe she still felt a bit piqued by the mayor running roughshod over her twice in two days--or maybe it was a feeling of compassion for the estranged mother and son, she’s not sure. She found herself getting her purse, and marching in a two-man band to the Sheriff’s Office to, as Henry put it, “spring Emma from jail.”

She was going to get another tirade from the mayor for this, she was sure, but at this moment, with Henry beaming approvingly and Emma looking at her in an uncertain mixture of relief, baffled gratitude--and the tentative beginnings of friendship--she thought it well worth it.

 

* * *

 

Having Henry brought back home, she would have expected her boss to come to work the next morning in a better mood--instead of practically livid and on the warpath, giving her a fulminating glare and slamming the door.

Izzy sighed, steeling herself for an unpleasant day at work as she gathered her memos and went to face the dragon.

In between snapping at her, calling Sidney Glass, then Dr. Hopper, and pulling some strings, they managed to get some actual work done--before being treated in the afternoon to the extraordinary spectacle of Miss Emma Swan, Regina’s current thorn on the side, hacking away at the mayor’s prized apple tree.

She would have applauded at her sheer audacity, if she wasn’t the one who’d have to shoulder the brunt of Regina’s bad temper for the rest of the day. It was evident they were both equally strong-willed women unafraid of confrontation, and she just knew things were going to escalate into a full-out bloodbath if one of them doesn’t back down, as she told Graham when he came by later.

Not that she expected his well-meaning advice to be heeded; she was therefore amazed to get instructions from Regina to let Miss Swan in once she got there, for the purpose of brokering what was apparently a truce.

 _Regina_ being the first to extend an olive branch? Will wonders never cease.

“Hi Izzy!” Henry beamed and bounded past her, straight to his mother’s office for their usual mother-son rendezvous, unaware of the showdown going on inside in his honor--only for the door to bang open a minute later to see him rush by her in tears.

“Henry!” Miss Swan went past her looking guilt-stricken, followed a while later by Regina with cat-canary smile on her face, unmindful of her distraught son. She slanted dark eyes in her direction, seeing Izzy’s open dismay.

“Well? Don’t you have a job to do?”

Thankfully, the phone chose that moment to ring, letting her escape to her duties. It wasn’t her place to interfere anyway, she reminded herself, feeling sick and hollow. He’s Regina’s son, _not_ yours _..._ But still--

Poor Henry and Miss Swan. Poor Regina too while she was at it. If only she herself could...

 _No._ Focus on your job instead.

She owed Regina too much to question her parenting technique or meddle in the way she raised Henry. _Regina knows what she’s doing,_ she told herself firmly. _Perhaps this is for the best._

She ignored the new little voice that suddenly popped up and introduced itself to her conscious, decrying her thoughts on the matter as rationalizations-- _weak and self-serving_ \--in favor of the other familiar niggling presence that had reared itself at the back of her head that she likes to call her survival instinct, telling her to mind her business. The little voice faded away to imperceptibility after stanchly tuning it out, to her relief.

But it wasn’t gone.

 

* * *

 

Rolling his neck from side to side to get rid of cricks, he threw the keys by the side-table and shrugged off his jacket...stopping just short of the living room to see Moe sitting uneasily by the couch.

“Graham!” Jumping up as soon as he caught sight of his son-in-law, he tried to greet him jovially, but the uneasiness was still apparent. “I was waiting for Izzy, when’ll she be home?”

“Izzy’s working overtime today,” _helping the mayor prune her vandalized tree_ he didn’t add. “You know, we have some beer on the fridge,” he jerked a thumb at the kitchen.

“Oh no, no, I’m fine, already had my one today.”

Undeterred, Graham fetched two cold ones and lobbed a bottle towards Moe. “What Izzy doesn’t know, can’t hurt.”

Chuckling, the older man opened it with a twist and guzzled it straight down. “Guess I needed that,” he smacked his lips contentedly. “It’s been...difficult lately.”

“Whatever it is, Moe, you can tell me. I’m family too you know.”

“It’s--it’s the rent,” he sighed. “That bastard Gold’s raising it again and--dammit, I know I already imposed on you too much already, and you have your own problems, but, well...”

“It’s okay, we’ve got extra cash to spare,” he replied soothingly, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a couple hundred bucks, tactfully pretending not to see Moe barely restrain himself from wincing as he did so.

“I’ll pay you back soon. Valentine’s coming, and the shop will be swamped with orders. With luck, I’ll be able to make enough for next month’s rent and pay you back, I promise.”

“We’re not in a hurry. You need it more than we do right now.”

“You’re a good man, son, a good man.”

Now _he_ can barely stop himself from wincing at that.

 

* * *

 

The small gold clock by the mantel chimed twelve, the witching hour. It continued to tick away merrily, as if trying to catch up with lost time. Time that now weighed heavily on her for the first time in twenty-eight years.

 _It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,_ she fumed to herself in the dead of the night, decanter of scotch clutched tight in her right hand.

She knew the risk of course. She remembered the old devil’s warnings.

That the child of that insipid girl-woman and her simple-minded husband shall have the power to break her curse...Oh how she used to gnash her teeth at that, that another of Snow’s ilk, a milk-water young miss--or a callow youth, heroic and foolhardy--would just be able to waltz in and undo all her work, destroy her happiness once again...

But nearly three decades of monotony had lulled her into a false sense of security. Her watchful vigilance had relaxed as the years passed by, until she made her first tentative attempts to make a real home for herself, by finding a child she could raise and love as her own, and who would love her unreservedly.

In hindsight, it was foolishly naïve of her to entrust the task to the man once known as the duplicitous imp Rumpelstiltskin.

She had watched him closely for any sign that he recalled the creature he once was, the antagonism that once stood between them, even dangling his former maidservant as bait just to wrangle a reaction, _anything_ out of him. But either he’d really forgotten, or the bastard was a better actor than she had supposed with his past melodramatic histrionics.

She chose to believe the former, and had gone to him to cut one last deal. He produced Henry, who in his infancy was everything she had hoped, and never asked a single question on where he came from.

But fate--or karma as they say in this world--had always been a bitch. And she had a helpful little accomplice in Mr. Gold/Rumpelstiltskin.

The Savior--Regina sneered, splashing more scotch into a glass--was a twenty-eight-year-old high school dropout, ex-juvenile delinquent, an unmarried mother at eighteen, whose greatest accomplishment was to out-macho the crooks and thugs that she regularly hauled to jail but was little better than. She couldn’t understand why Henry idolizes her so--seeking to replace the mother who took care of him since he was a baby with, _that_.

No, she can’t accept this. That she was to be undone by such a woman, have everything she held dear stolen from her by this troublemaker, this _hooligan--_ it was almost worse than knowing it was Snow White’s daughter. This was no princess, no knight in shining armor--she would be damned if she would lose to someone like Emma Swan.

Tilting her head, she tossed the glass back, the contents sliding down her throat in a welcomed burn. Sloshing the remnants around and around her glass, she glowered dourly at the amber liquor.

She’d also be damned if she’d let Rumpelstiltskin get away with his machinations. Never again.

 


End file.
